In Plain Sight
by I'mDatingTheReceptionist
Summary: Sherlock's teaching John how to dance for his wedding. On a quiet evening in 221b, feelings begin to make themselves shown and Sherlock just can't let this go. Consider this a missing scene ; ) JxS.


**Song used is Here We Go by Jon Brion : )**

* * *

"John?" Sherlock speaks from his chair as he carefully plucks at the strings of his violin.

It's a clear Saturday night, with the occasional laughter and voice heard outside from the usual passerby, and the street lights glow dimly against the window panes. It had been a hard day for both men as they had worked hours on a case that had seemed impossible to solve. Well, impossible if Sherlock hadn't been there - even so, it had taken a long while before he'd been able to figure out the killers motive, and when they were done, the clock had just ticked over to 5pm. After a quick takeout dinner, and seperate showers at seperate times to wash the day away, the duo had retired to their seperate armchairs to finally relax and go about their own activities in silence for the remainder of the evening, which entailed John reading a battered copy of "To Kill A Mockingbird" and what looked to be Sherlock quietly tuning his violin across from him, though John had come to know this meant he was going over something in his head.

"Hm?" John glances up as he turns a page, keeping his eyes down.

Sherlock snaps a hand on the front of the violin, almost to shut his own thoughts off as looks directly at John, "What time is it?"

"Um..." Johns eyes dart to his watch. "Almost 6, why?"

Sherlock smiles, and that catches Johns attention. For a moment, he thinks he's going to say something on the case, but when he places the instrument back in its case and stands, he closes his book, "Sherlock?"

His flatmate ignores him to walk over to the radio, and he wordlessly switches it on before fiddling with the dial. Johns heart sinks. He places the book on his side table with a drawn out sigh, "Can we have one night off?" When he doesn't get a reply, he rolls his eyes and stands, gesturing to the chairs, "Are we pushing these back then?"

Sherlock doesn't glance his way as he says, "If you wouldn't mind."

John stands there, waiting, but when Sherlock makes no move to help, he shakes his head and goes about doing the task himself. Just as he's finished putting Sherlocks chair against the bookcase, he speaks up again with a suggestion to move anything else that he thinks will get in the way.

John turns as he takes off his jumper and tosses it onto his seat. He's not surprised in the slightest to see that Sherlock hasn't budged an inch from the radio, his hand still idly turning the dial, but it still makes him throw his hands out, "You know, you could help too."

"I am."

John smiles wryly, but he knows there's no point in trying to argue with him. He does as Sherlock's said and goes about the room, moving anything back that he thinks they'll bump into or will step over. He even goes over to the curtains to draw them closed as an afterthought and the room seems to get brighter, making John smile. He almost jumps when he hears Sherlocks voice, who's still at the radio, he realises.

"Why did you close the curtains?"

John turns to look at him and motions a hand to the already lit lamps, "We don't need the extra light."

Sherlock eyes him curiously, but doesn't say another word and John walks over to him as he voices a "got it" and spins a different dial so the volume increases. In one swift move, he turns and holds out a hand as a light piano begins filtering through the speakers and John smiles, letting Sherlocks fingers curl around his own, with his other hand coming round to encircle his waist while Johns rests lightly on his shoulder. As the lyrics start, Sherlock easily leads them into a simple box step, and it doesn't take long for them to find their own rhythm; in the months prior, John had been possibly the worst student Sherlock had had to teach - he would stumble over both their feet, keep his eyes down at all times, and eventually he would feel so awkward and uncomfortable that they'd have to cut their lesson short while he'd apologised profusely and said he would try harder next time. To his surprise, Sherlock had been wonderfully considerate with him; he hadn't once snapped at him, and had been so incredibly patient that John had wondered more than once how he had gotten so lucky to have somebody like him to be giving him lessons.

Every evening, whether they were tired out from a case or had had nothing on all day, they somehow found time to fit a practice in. At first, John had been a stumbling, off balance mess, but as the weeks went on, and his confidence in dancing grew, so did his and Sherlocks chemistry - perhaps it had been because of his extreme lack of self confidence, but John hadn't really realised how perfectly they'd danced together until Sherlock had commented airily on how far he had come since the beginning, and John had felt his face flush with embarrassment.

John glances down at their feet now as he smiles at the memory, and when he looks back up, he can see his flatmates expression has softened. He suddenly grins and lifts their hands up to twirl John around, before he's back in his arms again. John stares at him. From the start, they'd always agreed with a waltz, since it was generally the traditional dance at weddings, but..a spin? Where had that come from?

Sherlock chuckles but doesn't say anything, and John has no choice but to follow on, though he's still in a slight daze from the move. Although the song is slow, they both begin to quicken their steps and John laughs as he's spun around again, Sherlock bringing him back to hold him closer as they practically glide across the room. Every now and again, Sherlocks eyes catch the lamps lights, and John still does step on his toes, but they never once look away from one another, and John swears he feels something pass between them, but he's having far too much fun to think on it. They soon break the standard rule and begin spinning one another around, smiling hard and laughing together, and suddenly...the rules don't matter. They don't care.

As the song begins to fade out, Sherlock spins him one final time before turning him for the dip. The last move.

They've done this dance many times. Practiced until their feet were sore and their faces were flushed with happiness. And though John has gone through the motions, knowing every beat by heart, somehow - somehow - it's always the dip that has him freeze up. He knows, he has to do this exact waltz with Mary and if he does go still out there, he'll look like an utter fool and embarrass both of them. But he just...can't do it. In the lessons, he always looks off or ends the dance abruptly before going off to his room with Sherlock staring after him in utter confusion. Despite this, Sherlock has never brought it up, and John continues to carry this strange guilt on his shoulders. That is, until tonight.

Their hands unlink as Sherlock puts his on Johns shoulder blade, and Johns comes down to hold his waist. Sherlock carefully lowers him until their noses are almost touching, and they're both panting as the violin comes to a close; Sherlocks eyes search him as he waits for John to let go and step away, but nothing of the sort happens at all.

Perhaps it's the utter giddiness John feels coursing in his veins, or that he hasn't felt this relaxed in what could be years, but as his gaze holds his, he finds himself smiling wide and before Sherlock can say anything, he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to his roommates mouth.

In seconds, Sherlock's kissing back, and John giggles as his hand comes around to cup his cheek. They kiss and kiss and kiss and neither come up for air until Sherlock whispers his name, and John sighs softly in response. They rest their foreheads together, eyes closed as they just let themselves stay in the moment - the radio has switched to another song, and they may as well have parted now for bed, but they're too far gone in one another to move.

Sherlocks breath is warm on Johns cheek and it makes a laugh bubble in his throat. Not once has he felt this way with Mary. So relaxed and connected and...in love.

His thumb brushes Sherlocks bottom lip as he open his eyes and whispers something that makes Sherlocks heart plummet.

"I can't believe I'm getting married next weekend."

Sherlocks eyes fly open and they run over Johns face, who's looking back with such a longing in his gaze. His mind suddenly falls back to reality, to what exactly they're doing, and he almost drops John on the carpet as his mouth falls open in shock. He looks away as he steps back and gently lets go of him to study his expression, his lips pursed. He knows. He's figured it out in one look. And while this usually impresses John to no end, tonight it has him want to sink into the floor.

John swallows, "Sherlock..."

He doesn't even get a chance to finish.

Sherlock walks off to his room without another word and slams the door shut, and when Johns mind registers this, he quickly follows, his stomach twisting in knots.

This had been his exact fear. This is what he had dreaded in the days and weeks leading up to the big day.

With every lesson Sherlock had been giving him, Johns feelings had grown gradually stronger, and with their overwhelming chemistry and closeness - especially at the dip - he had realised he had been slowly falling in love. But of course he hadn't been able to act on it, because of his commitment to Mary.

That didn't stop him tonight, however.

John softly knocks on the door, already feeling the happiness leak out of him, "Sherlock, I..." He pauses when he feels a crushing weight press on his chest and he runs a hand through his hair, "I have to go," he says finally. Despite himself, he waits. Maybe he'll come out to say goodbye. Hell, maybe he'll even slip a note under the door.

Nothing.

John goes to knock again, but uncurls his hand at the last second and walks back down the hallway to the door, grabbing his jumper on the way.

* * *

He gets a text at 3am while lying in bed with Mary.

His phone screen glows brightly against the ceiling and John turns on his side with a groan as he reaches out a hand for it.

After the incident at the flat, John hadn't been able to sleep a wink. He had eventually come home at 8pm to, thankfully, find Mary had gone to bed early, and he had crawled in next to her. She had stirred but otherwise hadn't woken in the slightest, and though John had tried to get some shut eye himself, he just hadn't been able to get the thought of Sherlocks lips on his.

As soon as he sees the name on the screen, his entire body goes cold.

No. He definitely needs a drink for this before anything.

He throws the covers off and quietly pads out of the room, phone gripped tightly in his hand. Using the light to guide him, he makes his way to the kitchen to grab a glass from the cabinet, and crouches down to find the bottle of scotch in a small cupboard under the bench. After pouring himself one, he leans against the table and with the glass in his fingers, finally taps open the message:

 _We need to talk. I'm outside. SH._

John stares at it. Reads it over again. He glances at the hallway then back at the phone.

 _Surely not._

 _He is kidding, right?_

As John tries to process the text, there's a soft knock at his front door, and he throws down both items to hurry it there before Mary wakes up. His heart is racing as he pulls it open to find, lo and behold, Sherlock in his Belstaf coat over his pyjamas. He looks like he hasn't slept either - whether he couldn't or didn't is not Johns issue right now. What is, is Sherlock being here. On his doorstep of all places.

He steps out, and quietly closes the door behind him. The streetlamps are their only source of light, and John almost wants to laugh at the irony. He shakes his head as his voice lowers to a whisper.

"Sherlock, what're you doing here?!"

Sherlocks voice is soft, "John, listen to me. Whatever feelings you have for me, you cannot act on them, do you understand?"

John stares at him, "Can't this wait till morning?"

"But it is morning."

"I mean _morning_ morning. 8am maybe?"

"I don't think we should wait that long to have this discussion, John."

John wipes a hand on his face, "Sherlock - for gods sake - we can, alright? We _definitely_ can." Sherlock opens his mouth to reply, but John lifts a finger. "No. Shut up. It's 3 in the morning and I have to go to work in a few hours. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to bed - which is what you should be doing, too."

He turns back to the door, but just as his fingers touch the handle, Sherlock speaks from behind him.

"You haven't slept since you got back, have you?"

John clenches his jaw, "Sherlock, I swear to god -"

"No, neither have I. Wonder why." He chuckles to himself.

John glances at the sky, then spins back around, "Alright, let's talk." Sherlock blinks at him, his smile gone, and John offers a hand, "You're not going to leave until we talk about this, so come on. Talk."

Sherlock pauses to gauge his emotions, and he points behind him when he sees Johns eyes glint in the light, "Actually, you know what? This can wait till morning - "

"No. You're not leaving, Sherlock. You got me out of bed to see you. Whatever you have to say must be important."

Sherlock puts his hands in his pockets, "Alright." He hesitates, unsure whether or not John's going to snap, but decides to go on, "The wedding's next Saturday. Correct?"

"...Yes?"

"And today is Thursday."

He nods.

"So you have approximately 1 week and 2 days to stop any and all romantic feelings you have for me." He holds up his hands, "Now, I know that sounds like a short amount of time, given the circumstance we're in, but if you just somehow manage to keep your distance from me starting from tomorrow morning, then I think you'll be okay." He pauses. "Then again, I haven't _quite_ calculated how long you've had these feelings for me, and depending on the length of time, also when your feelings for Mary changed..."

He's cut off when John starts laughing quietly in front of him.

" _This_ is what you wanted to talk to me about? How long it would take for me to stop...feeling the way I do about you?"

Sherlock blinks, "I figured it was the most obvious thing, yes."

John sighs in defeat, letting out a final laugh, "Sherlock, feelings don't run on the head. They're in the heart." When he sees Sherlock isn't getting it, he steps away from the door, and his voice softens, "You can't help how you feel about someone. You can try to ignore it, yes, but you can't stop it, alright?"

"So...even after you marry Mary, you'll still be in love with me?"

John glances at the street lamps. It's said. There. "Yes."

Sherlock quirks a brow, "You... _are_ going to marry Mary?" John sucks in a breath, "What about you being in love with me -"

"Can you stop...saying that?"

"Why? It's true, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but." He stops, hoping Sherlock will get the hint. But, of course, he doesn't.

"But what?"

John licks his lips. He goes to reply, but he stops when Sherlock begins taking off his coat. All he has underneath is his blue dressing gown, but even then that's only made out of silk, "What're you doing?"

He holds it out, "Take it. You're freezing."

John frowns, "Then you'll be cold."

Sherlock doesn't move, and John rolls his eyes as he takes it and shrugs it on. It's way too big for him - the cuffs go over his hands and the bottom reaches past his knees - but despite it, he smiles, "Thanks."

"You were saying?"

"Sometimes that's just how it is."

Sherlocks brows knit together, "But there must be a waiting period -"

"So you expect me to not be in love with you by the time my wedding comes around?"

Sherlock stares hard at him, and there's a beat, "Are you in love with Mary, John?"

John shakes his head, "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you..." He raises his voice a notch, and it's bitten with frustration. At Sherlock or himself, he doesn't know, "Yes, I am. But I'm just _more_ in love with you."

Sherlock pauses, and when he speaks again, it's like he's had a revelation, "You'll have to cancel the wedding."

"...What?"

"Yes, that's the only option you have, John. Then you can be happy and you won't get your heart broken. Metaphorically speaking, of course."

John stares, "My heart's _already_ broken! And I'm not...cancelling my own wed...Sherlock, have you been listening to a _single_ word I've just said?"

"Yes."

"Then you should understand that I can't do that!"

"But, John -"

"No, I..." He backs up to the door, already over this, "Sherlock, I really have to get to bed - I'll go to sleep this time, I _promise_. Please, go home. We'll talk about this tomorrow...today - look, I." He sighs, "Goodnight, Sherlock."

His hand goes to the handle again, but again, he's stopped by Sherlock.

"You're still wearing my coat."

John sighs and turns around as he begins taking it off, "Oh...oh, right. Here."

Sherlock takes it, but doesn't put it back on. He watches John smile at him before speaking,

"John."

He rubs his eyes, now feeling the tiredness settle in, "Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

Sherlock steps up so they're closer together, "You still have to go through with this marriage, and you'll still be in love with me." His voice sounds so full of sorrow that it makes John swallow hard. Now it's sinking in.

He shrugs, "It's not an obligation. I just...have to, you know?"

Sherlock doesn't reply, and they look at each other for a long while, until Sherlock comes forward to kiss John on the cheek. His eyes dart across his, "I know. It's okay."

John feels a lump settle in his throat, and as he watches Sherlock leave, his vision blurs with tears. When he's gone, he wipes them away and goes back inside.

It's for the best.

It has to be.


End file.
